


Those Who Wrong Us

by Dr_Hoffmans_Mechanic, fishbone76



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Odyssey
Genre: Action, Angst, Canon Divergence, Cult of Kosmos (Assassin's Creed), F/F, NSFW, Phoibe is alive, Tags May Change, angst with an eventual happy ending, mild? smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29898525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Hoffmans_Mechanic/pseuds/Dr_Hoffmans_Mechanic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishbone76/pseuds/fishbone76
Summary: With the Cult all but wiped out Kassandra should be happy surely? But she finds herself haunted by ghosts from her past and the memories of bad decisions. And now someone decidedly unghost-like is on her tail.Just when she thought the biggest challenge of her life was behind her, it seems as though another, even greater, is about to loom before her.
Relationships: Kassandra/Kyra (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 29





	1. A Night To Remember

**Author's Note:**

> New story, new universe.  
> We kept some OC’s from our other stories but everything else is a new setting. 
> 
> For example: Kassandra has a bit of a different personality. Nike’s and Kyra’s past differs from UWMA, Stepmother and Styx. 
> 
> While there will be some kind of Kyra/Kassandra romance it will not be what you might expect. But don’t worry we will get to a happy ending… eventually ;)
> 
> Math dad doesn’t exist nor will the staff of Hermes and therefore no modern day, no immortal Kass. Instead Nikolaos is the real father of Kassandra.
> 
> We'll keep the ISU lore very subtle.  
> The Cult main quest is finished but we took liberties with certain aspects. 
> 
> The family main quest is almost finished.
> 
> If you haven’t played the Lost Tales Of Greece episode ‘one really, really bad day’ yet you should do it now (or watch a playthrough). It’s one of the most entertaining ones and might help you understand and enjoy a part of this story better.
> 
> Hoff: As fishbone says this is very different from our other stories, both the ones we’ve created together and the ones we’ve written alone. 
> 
> fishbone conceived this story and I’m really helping midwife it, I guess? To labour a metaphor.
> 
> It is certainly the most collaborative thing we’ve ever written, outside of a couple of chapters of Stepmother. 
> 
> So far, it's been challenging and enjoyable for me. I hope it's enjoyable for you too.
> 
> ps: so far no goats...leave that with me.

The tavern was becoming so noisy that Barnabas had to inch his seat closer to Kassandra’s just to make himself heard over the clamour of music and voices.

It was crowded too. By virtue of Kassandra’s imposing physique and intimidating swagger, they’d been able to get a small table to themselves, over by a window, but he still managed to scrape the leg of his stool across the toes of someone standing behind him.

Anticipating an argument he turned, smiling apologetically, ready to offer a drink by way of recompense, but the hooded figure just grunted and took a half step back towards the wall where their toes would be somewhat safer.

How they were able to stand there, nursing their drink, bundled and hooded like that he did not know. Sweat was running down his nose, soaking into his whiskers.

“Hey, Kassandra?” He nudged her arm. “Put this in your pack would you?” He removed his threadbare chlamys. “Be careful with my clasp,” he warned as he rolled the cloth carefully around the silver porpoise that served to secure it. It had been a gift from the crew to celebrate the estimated anniversary of his birth some weeks previously and he was still touchingly delighted with it. “It’s hot as Hephaestus’ forge in here.”

Kassandra complied with his request, shaking her head and laughing as she did so. She’d chipped in more than half the cost of the brooch, and it had been worth every drachma to see his face when they presented it to him. She tucked the salt stained bundle deep into her pack and carefully retied the drawstring.

“Why don’t you get a new shawl while we’re here? This damn thing is more holes than thread. You’ve been wearing it since the day we met, and what’s that now? Six years?”

“Exactly! Six glorious years of exploration and adventure.” Barnabas raised a hand to catch the attention of a passing serving girl, indicating for two more jugs of the excellent wine they were drinking. They had received a handsome payment for their last job of work, there was no need to stint.

“It’s my lucky chlamys!” He patted Kassandra’s hand.

“Lucky? You were wearing it the day you fell overboard and that huge shark almost had you.” Kassandra spoke around a mouthful of dried boar, pouring the last of the wine into their cups, and pushing the empty jug to one side to join its two companions.

“Almost! _Almost_ is the important word there.” He raised a finger. “And who dived in and punched that fellow in the eye for me?” He directed the finger at her.

“That would be me.” Kassandra sounded distracted.

For a while now, she’d been peering through the crowd, though Barnabas couldn’t see at what, or who. He had his suspicions though. Suspicions that were confirmed when a gap appeared between the jostling bodies and he spotted the target of her gaze.

“Do you not get tired of this?” He sighed, shaking his head and selecting an olive from the shallow bowl between them.

“What?” Her eyes were still locked onto her target, she didn’t so much as tilt her head to glance at him. “Eating and drinking and earning fat pouches of drachmae?”

“No. Not that. _That!_ ” He nodded in the direction of the two women sitting at a table together.

“Beautiful women?” Kassandra did look at him now, seeming bemused.

“They aren’t all that beautiful.” Barnabas wasn’t surprised by her disapproving expression. It had been mean spirited.

“All women are beautiful.” Kassandra sounded reproving. “There’s something about each. Their face, their body, their nature. You just have to pay attention.”

“Well, they’re no Kyra.” He’d half expected the roll of the eyes that was Kassandra’s first response.

“Gods’ teeth Barnabas, let go with the Kyra thing would you?”

“But she’s perfect for you.” Barnabas knew that he sounded whiny. He so often did when the subject of Kyra came up. He would whine, Kassandra would get prickly. But he kept doing it all the same. The image of them regal and united, blessed by the gods, governing over the place of his birth would not leave him. “I don’t know why we haven’t been back yet. Why you just left like that and -”

“You know full well why we left, old man! She had a job to do, and so did I.”

The bloody Cult, he scowled, taking a mouthful of wine to stop himself from saying something he’d regret.

He had hoped against hope that once Kassandra had broken the back of the organisation she would step back and turn her thoughts to a life of peace. Barnabas had seen the path of vengeance lead decent men straight to Tartarus before now. There was so much goodness in Kassandra, he was certain of it. But a few drops of poison could taint a whole jug of milk, and there were nights when he lay awake in his bunk praying that she would be strong enough to resist the lure of the darkness.

He risked a glance sideways and saw the muscles of Kassandra’s jaw working as she gritted her teeth.

“You’ve done your job now.” He probably should leave it, but he couldn’t help himself. Where was that damn girl with the wine? “You’ve killed the snake, now you deserve to rest.”

Kassandra had emptied her cup, and placed it on the table before her, turning it between her fingers.

“It’s not quite dead Barnabas. I’m sure of that. And it won’t be dead until the head is off.” Her voice was barely audible over the laughing and singing.

He shook his head, unsure whether he felt more sad or frustrated. He knew how hard it could be to give up something that had occupied so much of your time and thoughts and energy, but surely enough was enough.

“But really Kassandra? Think about it, you’ve killed kings and warriors, fought your way through an entire arena to reach one of them. What danger is one mad old healer? Let it rest.”

She turned her head and looked at him sharply.

“That’s just the point Barnabas. She lasted as long as she did because so many of them saw her as nothing more than that. A mad old healer. But she’s far, far more. There wasn’t a guard or assassin who didn’t pass through her hands. For every tyrant king who dismissed her, she had fifty foot soldiers who would give her their lives. And she’s cunning. She had me totally convinced that Aspasia was the Ghost, right till the last minute.”

Barnabas gave a grunt, barely audible over the clamour of the tavern. Kassandra and Myrrine seemed charmed by the elegant Athenian, but she’d been a Cultist once. Surely it was like the shaking disease, something that lurked in your body, resting from time to time only to flare up again the moment it perceived weakness.

“What Chrysis has built once, she can build again.” Kassandra’s voice was a low growl, almost as if she was speaking to herself now.

Barnabas pursed his lips, chewing at his whiskers. He should probably leave it. Yes, he should definitely leave it.

“Are you sure this is about the Cult? And not because of what she did to -”

The look she shot at him this time made him flinch.

“It’s about both!” Her eyes flashed fire. “When you’re cleaning out rot you don’t leave the slightest little bit behind. And she is the root of it all. Do you really think that I can settle down on some farm, raise chickens, watch the sunsets, knowing that she’s still out there? I’ll go to my grave before I let her do to another family what she did to mine.”

“So, what? You spend the rest of your life watching for this damned Cult to spring up again?”

“I find the head. I find that bitch Chrysis and crush her under my heel.” Kassandra’s fist hit the table with enough force to set the empty jugs rattling.

There was a muffled cough from behind them and she glanced over her shoulder irritated. The sights and smells of the plague in Athens were impossible to banish from her mind even now, and while she didn’t fear for herself, Barnabas wasn’t getting any younger.

“Move your chair a little.” She nudged his arm. “Diseases thrive in warm, crowded places like this.”

He rolled his eyes but complied all the same, scraping carefully along the dusty floor, wary of stray toes this time. At least this had distracted her. It had been foolish to bring up the Cult again. Kassandra’s anger could flare like a brushfire at the thought of Chrysis.

“I don’t know why we need to look for a healer, with your expert medical knowledge.” He assumed a playful tone and pushed the bowl of olives towards her before taking a couple for himself.

“Every ship should have a healer,” Kassandra muttered. “We wouldn’t have lost those two riggers if we’d had a healer.”

“Hmm.” Barnabas gave a curt shrug. “The new men are better.”

“Very pragmatic.” Kassandra gave him a dry look and prodded with dissatisfaction at the olives he had offered.

The wine here was excellent, but the same could not be said for the food. They would have to be discerning when seeking supplies tomorrow. She valued her crew too much to present them with this sort of dismal offering. Barnabas however was popping one after another into his mouth, seeming unconcerned by how mealy and bitter they were.

“I still think that we could make a trip to Mykonos next,” he continued, the drink making him rash. “Meet up with...old friends.” He shot her a suggestive look. “You could look for that monstrous old witch from there as easily as from anywhere else, surely?”

Kassandra scowled into her empty cup for a moment, then made a clear effort to recover the previously cheerful mood.

“We’ll see, my friend,” she sounded evasive. “Anyway, wherever we settle, once that is done and I’ve spat on her miserable corpse, you can sit me down and sort out my love life. Though why I should take advice from you is beyond me. There’s not even a cat warming your bunk after all these years.”

Barnabas patted her shoulder, relieved that a row had been averted.

“Oh I’ve already got it all sorted out. After all, even without the lovely Kyra, is there a more beautiful place in the whole of the Greek world than Mykonos!”

“Kythera!” yelled someone close by.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Barnabas shot them a look, spotting the serving girl approaching as he did so. It was about time. “We reunite you with your love, you settle down, start a family.”

Kassandra’s roar of laughter was loud enough to turn heads even in the rowdy tavern.

“I start a family with a beautiful woman? And how exactly am I going to do that? And I mean _exactly.”_

Barnabas gave a dismissive huff. “A child doesn’t have to come from your body to be your child. You know that.”

There was a softness in his gaze as he looked at her and Kassandra couldn’t hold his look for very long, lowering her eyes to the table, embarrassed.

“Phoibe would make an excellent start to your family, don’t you think?” He kept his voice soft and inched his forearm close enough to touch Kassandra’s elbow. “I know you don’t like talking about your feelings, and that’s all right, I understand. But just as I’ve kept that ratty old chlamys because it means something to me, you’ve kept that eagle. It's always there, no? You’ve practically worn away Chara’s feathers. Because Phoibe is always on your mind.”

Kassandra still wasn’t looking at him, picking at the grain of the table top with her thumbnail.

“She deserves better than I can offer her,” she mumbled at last.

“She deserves better than that bastard Markos is giving her. Treating her like a little slave, same as he did with you.” Barnabas began to gather together the empty jugs and bowls as the girl approached with her tray. “Mykonos would make a lovely place for her to grow up. Damn sight better than that goat infested rock at the ass end of the Aegean. And a sharp, intelligent woman like Kyra would be an excellent mentor, don’t you think? Her and her clever sister? Now _there’s_ a healer!”

After a pause Kassandra took a breath and sat upright. There was coin in her pack, and two likely looking companions glancing over at her. Why spoil the evening with an argument.

“You make a good point. Good _points_ ,” she conceded. “But now isn’t the time to talk about this. I have coin in my pocket, here comes more wine, we made enough to afford to resupply and make some repairs. Let me live in this moment, Barnabas eh? Just for now?”

He felt a lump forming in his throat as he looked at her. She worked so hard, with such determination, against such odds, and she had seen such sorrow. Since the day she strode into his life, saving him from the clutches of that clumsy thug, he had wanted nothing more than to follow her, to fight alongside her. But time marched on and he was getting no younger. She was the closest thing he had to a daughter, it was only natural to want to see her settled and at peace, surely?

“Of course, my girl.” He reached out, clasping his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her towards him, resting their foreheads together. “All I have ever wanted is to see you safe and happy.”

Softened by the jug of wine currently sloshing around her system, she permitted it, going so far as to relax against him for a moment.

The clatter of crockery on the table broke the moment and Kassandra darted upright, assuming a mask of affable, slightly drunken wolfishness as the serving girl unloaded her tray and removed the empties. She gave Kassandra a wary look. Not without cause, Barnabas supposed. Kassandra frequently forgot that not every woman was eager to wander down the violet pathway with her.

“Thank you, lovely.” Kassandra seemed undeterred by her frown. “Let me ask you something.”

Here we go, thought Barnabas, carefully inching back his stool just in case the girl decided to launch one of the full jugs at Kassandra.

“If you must.” She was clearly unimpressed by the foxy grin being directed at her.

“See those two ladies over at the table there?”

The girl relaxed immediately, giving a derisive bark of laughter. “They’re no ladies. They’re just common p-”

“See those _ladies_?” Kassandra suddenly seemed much more sober and very emphatic. The girl swallowed what she had been about to say and nodded. “Send them a jug of the finest wine you have on the premises, and tell them it's from me.”

“Aye, of course, if you insist.”

“I do.” Kassandra fished a coin from her belt and pressed it into the girl’s hand. “For your trouble.”

The girl glanced down at the coin, seemed surprised and impressed and gave her a nod. Kassandra watched her leave, the pots rattling on the tray, before turning her look towards the women at the table. They were looking right back, Barnabas noticed.

“Which one takes your fancy?” Kassandra kept her eyes on them as she spoke to him. “The redhead or the blonde?”

Barnabas followed her gaze and sighed. He found that Aphrodite left him undisturbed far more frequently these days, and if he was honest, he was glad of it more often than not. It would be pleasant to have someone special of course, someone happy to see him when he returned from a voyage, someone to sit with of an evening and share tall tales. But he no longer had an appetite for casual trysts in rented rooms.

“Not tonight, my friend.” He shook his head. “I think I’ll find an ear for my stories, drink more of this excellent wine. You may have your choice.”

Kassandra pursed her lips thoughtfully, watching as the serving girl took the wine over to the table. She exchanged a few words with the women before nodding over in Kassandra’s direction. She raised her cup and gave them her most charming smile.

“It would be rude to separate them, don't you think Barnabas, when they look so lovely together?”

“Indeed.” He nodded, draining his cup and watching as the two women shared a look, gathered up the jug of wine and their cups and made their way over.

“Ladies!” Kassandra leapt to her feet rattling the pots on the table. “Please. Do us the honour of joining us?”

“It would be our pleasure.” The elder of the two took the seat that Kassandra offered. “You were kind enough to provide us with this wine, it will taste even better in company.”

Barnabas stood and indicated to the young blonde that she should take his place.

“Thank you. But surely you aren’t leaving us?”

The smile she bestowed was so charming that he almost reconsidered, but a roar of delighted laughter from a table in the far corner drew his attention. Three grizzled looking fellows, clearly sailors, were playing knucklebones and sharing jokes. He was in the mood for the company of fellow mariners tonight he decided.

“Alas, lovely lady, I am not possessed of the vigor I had in my youth. I fear that I could no longer do justice to your beauty.”

She pouted sympathetically and caught his hand.

“Reconsider, won’t you?” She tilted her head, smiling playfully. “I rather enjoy the company of an older gentlemen. It can be pleasant to take time over such things, no?”

“Yes, join us, please?” Her companion agreed. “Melissa has a gift for raising flagging spirits.”

“I’m sure she does.” Barnabas picked up one of the jugs and the bowl of olives, knowing that Kassandra would not be sorry to see them go. “But fear not. My young friend here has more than enough vigor to keep both of you ladies entertained for the rest of the evening.”

He squeezed his way into the crowd and Kassandra turned her attention to the women, but before she could speak, Barnabas’ head peeped back between two burly workmen.

“Early start tomorrow remember, Kassandra. We need to find a smith.” And then he was gone.

The redhead laughed and refilled Kassandra’s cup. “I can give you directions to the smith. Kassandra, is it?”

“Indeed!” She drained the cup, just to see if her companion would fill it again.

Of course she did.

Kassandra knew the steps to this dance well enough. She should do. It was the only one she had performed since she left Mykonos. Sneaking away like a thief in the night, with the rebellion’s payment heavy against her hip and Kyra sleeping in blissful ignorance behind her.

When she’d told Kyra that she would consider staying, settling, helping her with the mammoth task of rebuilding the Silver Islands after Podarkes’ tyranny, it hadn’t been a lie. Not exactly. At least that was how she tried to comfort herself looking back at it. Drowsy pillowtalk. People said all kinds of things when they lay sleepy and sex drunk in each other’s arms. You weren’t meant to take them seriously.

Kyra had though. Kassandra knew that for certain. It had been loud and clear in the way she had kissed Kassandra on hearing it, in the way she had burrowed into her arms, nuzzling against Kassandra’s chest, sighing contentedly.

Kassandra hadn’t lied. She _had_ considered it. She had considered it and found it impossible. She was no politician. Her diplomacy was the diplomacy of the blade and Kyra wanted, _needed,_ to distance herself from that. Kassandra was altogether too loud and brash and uncompromising for government. She would only hobble Kyra. It was a kindness that she was doing her.

At least that was what she had tried to tell herself as she bellowed the order to ready the ship, rousing her surprised and sleepy crew. Kyra would be hurt and angry when she woke. Of course she would, that was only natural. Kyra had watched a petulant Thaletas sail back for Sparta nursing his wounded pride, when she had rebuffed his demand of marriage. And now Kassandra had taken her payment and slunk out under cover of darkness, like a common prostitute.

As she had stood in the stern, watching the first pink threads of daybreak on the horizon, watching Mykonos shrink away to nothing, Kassandra had known she would never see it again. Never walk on the silver sands of its shores, never hunt in its lush hills. And she would never see Kyra again. Her shame would be a permanent barrier to that.

“-andra?” A hand on her arm roused her from the memory. She blinked and looked across the table. Both women were looking at her, concerned.

“Are you all right?” The blonde, what was her name again? Melissa? Yes. Melissa. Pretty name. She was stroking Kassandra’s hand now. “You looked so sad all of a sudden.”

“Sad!?” Kassandra roused herself with a snort. “No! Why would I be sad? I have excellent wine. Charming company.” She caught Melissa’s hand and pressed the fingers to her lips. “Melissa,” she smiled. “And?” She turned her eyes to the woman at her right.

“Eleni.” The older woman offered her hand and smiled as Kassandra repeated the performance.

“Melissa and Eleni,” Kassandra repeated thoughtfully, rolling the names around on her tongue. “Pretty names for two very pretty ladies.” She gave them a cocky wink. It seemed to reassure them.

Eleni laughed and filled the cups again. “You are a terrible flirt, Kassandra.”

“You have all night to teach me how to improve, my treasure.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, provoking another laugh.

“Oh, I fancy that we can teach each other a good many things.”

The look Eleni fired across the table made something flare hot and tight, deep in Kassandra’s belly. That was better. To Hades with regret. She had coin in her pocket, wine in her belly and soon she would have two warm and willing women in her bed. What more could she ask for?

“You have a pretty accent,” Melissa observed, taking one of the salted biscuits. A wise choice in Kassandra’s opinion. At least Barnabas had taken those wretched olives with him. “You clearly aren’t from these parts? Are you an adventurer? A sailor? Your companion looks like a man of the sea.”

“I command a ship, yes.” Kassandra threw back her shoulders, grinning proudly. “Barnabas is my captain. But I am a misthios, first and foremost. Kassandra of Sparta, the Eagle Bearer,” she announced with bravado, bracing her hands on the table, tautening the muscles of her forearms.

There was no pretence in the looks of admiration she was receiving now.

“You are _that_ Kassandra?” Eleni exclaimed. “Gods, I should have known. How dull we’ve been.”

“May we see your eagle?” Melissa’s eagerness was almost childlike and Kassandra found herself rubbing the back of her neck, feeling sheepish.

“I truly wish that you could, sweetheart. But...well, every couple of years, he feels the call of Aphrodite, just like the rest of us, and this is one such time.”

“He’s away making baby eagles?” Melissa sounded delighted, much to Kassandra’s relief. “But he comes back, no?”

“Eventually,” Kassandra laughed. “Looking a bit weary and threadbare. It seems as though paternity is a tiring job for an eagle”

Every time this happened Kassandra was taken aback by just how reliant she was on Ikaros for his support in the field. Scouting out targets, infiltrating camps and forts seemed to take forever without his assistance. Each time he returned she swore that she would not forget again. That she would keep at the front of her mind how valuable he was, how grateful she felt for his companionship. And every time, she forgot. Every time she was surprised anew when the day came for him to depart.

She remembered the first time he had left. For days prior to his departure Ikaros had been trying to tell her something, but young as she was it was impossible for her to understand. She was only just learning to read his calls, to allow him into her mind.

Then one day he just hadn’t come when she’d called him. Day after day she’d sat for hours at the foot of the great statue of Zeus, struggling to reach out to him, straining to connect, till her head ached with the effort. She still remembered how Markos had laughed at her distress. He’d never trusted the bird, and tellingly Ikaros had never trusted Markos either.

The day she’d finally heard his piping call, felt his great shadow swallow her as he dropped from the sky, almost knocking her sideways as he landed on her outstretched arm, she’d thought her heart would burst with joy and relief.

Sometimes she wondered if he didn’t do it now just to put her in her place periodically, to teach her not to take him for granted. She could scarcely blame him she supposed. Or perhaps it was his way of reminding her that settling down was always an option, nothing to be feared.

“They say he fights alongside you?” Melissa was clearly still fascinated by the idea. “That you can speak the language of eagles?”

“Not quite.” Kassandra laughed, hoping to avoid having to try and explain something that she struggled to understand herself. “Or if I can, I only understand Ikaros’ accent.”

“But he battles with you?”

“He does. Generally when it pleases him to do so, I suspect,” Kassandra evaded. “He has been with me since I was a child. He’s flown at my shoulder as I've explored the length and breadth of the Aegean, fought man and beast and monster.”

“And which of them gave you these?”

Eleni ran her hand slowly up Kassandra’s biceps, lingering over the broad bands of scar tissue. The touch of her fingers made Kassandra’s sex twitch in anticipation. She flexed her arm theatrically, letting Eleni feel the rock hard muscle, the taut scars.

“These were given to me as a memento by a monstrous bear, big as a mountain.”

Someone behind her gave a derisive snort and she was tempted to turn and make a few suggestions about where they might move to. But Eleni had taken Melissa’s hand now, pressed it to Kassandra’s arm, and gods it suddenly seemed like it had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a woman. She licked her lips.

“A bear?” Melissa breathed, inching her seat closer. Kassandra could feel the heat of the girl’s thigh against hers. “Tell us the tale, please?”

“He was a mighty beast. And ferocious. Lured down from his den by the scent of the ripening orchards. He was terrorising the workers. Making them fearful to go about their harvesting. They held their children close and barred their doors against him.”

“Till you came along?” Melissa seemed thoroughly caught up in the tale, or at any rate she was making an excellent performance of it. Kassandra could feel her pressing closer. Feel her leg hot against her thigh, moving barely perceptibly.

“I heard their cries for help and came to confront him.” She looked deep into Melissa’s sea green eyes, pausing for effect. “The orchards were deserted, the sun was sinking, the workers cowered in their homes, and he was nowhere to be seen.”

She turned her gaze to Eleni. She was leaning on the table, her chin in her hands, eyes glistening. To all intents and purposes she seemed transfixed. Her russet hair glowed in the lamplight.

“He was hiding?” she whispered, biting softly at her lower lip.

Kassandra would be kissing those lips soon. She felt her pulse beginning to quicken at the familiar back and forth, sensed the subtle flow of arousal. Draining her cup again she continued.

“He was! Behind a cart, up to his ears in a barrel of apples. Hearing my approach he raised his massive head, pushed aside the cart and reared up to his full height. He towered above me, his paws the size of this plate.”

She gestured dramatically towards the platter of biscuits, performing her role just as surely as her companions did theirs.

“And his claws! Zeus, his claws!” She placed her hand on the table, stretching out her fingers to their fullest extent, pressing her nails into the wood. “They were as long and thick as my fingers, and dagger sharp.”

Eleni glanced down, then up again from beneath half lowered lids.

“Those _are_ long fingers.” She measured her hand on top of Kassandra’s, smiling suggestively. “And they look like they have been of good service to you?” She lightly traced the lines and knots of scar tissue. “And to others I imagine?”

Kassandra raised her hand slowly, letting Eleni feel her strength as she clenched her fist, before flexing out her fingers again.

“I am very good with my hands. They’re my most powerful weapon, my most useful tool, my most versatile instrument.” She glanced over to Mellisa who was watching this performance with interest. “They have never let me down.”

She placed a finger under Melissa’s chin, gently raising her head to look into her eyes.

“In all my adventuring I have yet to find the lock they could not pick. I have never encountered a tight, mossy crevice they could not probe in search of treasure.” She lowered her voice to a purr. “And on finding it,” she leaned forward, so close now that she could feel the warmth of Melissa’s breath against her lips, ”they have plundered.”

“I would love to hear more.”

Kassandra could feel the movement of Melissa’s lips as she spoke. They would barely even need to move to turn this into a kiss. She tightened her grip on Eleni’s fingers.

“It’s too noisy for tale telling down here.” Kassandra shifted her head to one side, brushed her nose along Melissa’s cheek up close to her ear.

“You have somewhere more private in mind?”

Kassandra could feel the tremble run through Melissa’s shoulders as she spoke.

“Indeed I do.” Kassandra drew back, smiled at them both, caught their hands and pressed them each in turn to her lips. “I have what I hope is a pleasant room on the top floor, overlooking a little courtyard out back.”

“That is a very pleasant room as it happens.” Eleni returned her smile. “The bed is very comfortable.”

“And wide,” Melissa added as Kassandra got to her feet, extending her hands to help her companions to rise.

As she did someone jostled by her, nudging against her back as they passed. It was on the tip of Kassandra’s tongue to call to them. But Eleni was smiling and Melissa was tickling the palm of her hand, Kassandra’s head was swimming with wine and desire, and her blood was singing in her ears. She would let the clumsiness pass this once, she had more important things to deal with.

Kassandra had lost track of how much wine she had consumed over the evening. She’d eaten less of the substandard food than she’d expected though, that was for certain. As she dropped the simple latch on the door the room spun and she had to take a moment to steady herself before turning to survey her lodgings for the night.

As Eleni had said, things seemed pleasant enough, if basic. There was one window, currently shuttered, a small table with a washbowl and a couple of jugs of water, a chair, and a screen, possibly for dressing and undressing, shoved up into one corner.

The main point of interest for her though was the bed. She cast an appraising eye over it as she hung her spear in its harness over the nearest bedpost. Not huge, but it would do if they snuggled up when the time came to sleep.

Judging by the looks they were giving her as she sat on the chair and began to unfasten her boots, Eleni and Melissa would have no objections to that.

“Permit us, please?” Melissa sauntered over, her hips swaying provocatively.

Kassandra considered for a moment and then leaned back to allow Melissa to continue undoing the lacings as Eleni moved behind her and fussed with the straps of the leather breast and back plates she was wearing.

Neither of them seemed particularly adept with the straps and clips of armour, presumably the quiet village didn’t see a great many misthoi or soldiers. It gave Kassandra time to take a few breaths and steady herself again, wriggling her toes as the boots and footwraps came off.

“No, lovely.” She caught Melissa’s hands as they made for her belt. She seemed a little crestfallen, but brightened as Kassandra pressed kisses to her knuckles. “Why don’t you and the delightful Eleni entertain me as I get rid of this clumsy armour?” Kassandra reached out a hand and stroked Eleni’s cheek with the back of a finger. “Undress each other.” It was an instruction but she kept her voice soft, smiling as she nodded towards the bed.

It was all a performance. Kassandra knew that perfectly well. The languorous disrobing, the artful fondling, the exaggerated moans. Everything designed to arouse, to stimulate wine softened farmers and merchants, to tease the coin from their pockets.

They really didn’t need to work so hard at it tonight. Kassandra smiled to herself as she stood and pulled off her underwear, feeling the cool air against the wetness of the matted curls at her sex. They weren’t struggling to arouse some paunched, middle aged shopkeeper now.

She strode over to the table, feeling their eyes on her as she poured water and washed her hands. The towel was thin, but freshly laundered. Kassandra took her time drying her hands and forearms, squaring her shoulders and flexing the muscles of her back as she did.

The theatrical moaning had ceased now and she could hear quickening breath in its place. She lingered, folding the towel, teasing her audience with her lack of urgency. It had the desired effect. Kassandra sensed the warmth of their bodies as they drew close. Moments later eager hands were exploring the muscles of her shoulders and hips.

“They say you are a demigod, Kassandra of Sparta,” Eleni purred, pressing open mouthed kisses between Kassandra’s shoulder blades. “I had doubted that such a thing could be true. But now that I see you...in the flesh...I have to wonder.”

Kassandra turned, clenching the muscles of her chest and belly, performing for them just as surely as they had for her just minutes earlier.

“You would have to ask my mother about that,” she smirked, catching Melissa’s hand as it reached the flat hard plane of her lower belly. “But I would advise that you don’t.”

Kassandra drew Melissa’s hand to her mouth, kissing her soft fingertips, running them gently across her lips, letting Mellisa feel a teasing hint of tongue before she drew them into her mouth, sucking firmly, licking against the sensitive pads.

There was no pretense in those sea green eyes now. Melissa’s pupils blew wide as Kassandra held her gaze. Drawing in a slow deep breath Kassandra’s senses were filled with the smell of roses and lavender, and below the perfume, the warm animal scent of arousal.

“Shall we?” She nodded towards the bed.

The answer was wordless. Each woman caught a hand and Kassandra allowed herself to be led.

Melissa turned to fold down the covers, tucking them neatly over to lie at the foot of the bed and Kassandra took the opportunity to pull Eleni into her arms.

“I’d very much like to kiss you.” She held Eleni close, relishing the soft heat of her skin, the warm pressure of her full breasts against her chest.

“I’d very much like you to.”

The first kiss was gentle, exploratory. Kassandra’s hands caressed Eleni’s back, her flanks, the curve of her hips, just as tenderly as her lips and tongue teased at Eleni’s mouth. Melissa climbed onto the bed, all soft golden curves and wide eyes, watching them, her breath quickening.

“Ready?” Kassandra guided Eleni down to lie beside her companion and took a moment to admire them.

She would never see these women again after tonight. For all she knew Melissa and Eleni weren’t even their real names. Perhaps they wouldn’t have been so willing to join her here if the promise of drachmae didn’t hang in the air.

This wasn’t love, but it was a close enough facsimile for now. Kassandra’s body was content to believe it. She could feel the blood thrumming in her ears, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the tell tale trickle of arousal down her inner thigh. Yes. This would do for now.

Kassandra had lost count of the number of women she had bedded since she’d turned her back on Mykonos. Young and old, blonde and brunette, some from countries far beyond the Aegean, maid servants and mistresses, lowly pornai and cultivated hetaerae.

On lonely nights in her bunk she would conjure lovers piecemeal from her memories. The smile from this one, the voice of that one, the hands of another. The encounters all had one thing in common though, and tonight was no different.

Hours had passed and it was her companions who at last called “enough”, falling back flushed and sweaty, chests heaving.

“You are tireless.” Eleni combed a few strands of damp hair back from her brow and cheeks.

“Are you certain that you aren’t a demigod?” Melissa caught her breath first, leaning up on one elbow and reaching out, tracing soft fingers around Kassandra’s taut nipples, smiling with satisfaction as she saw her shudder with pleasure. “You certainly love like one.”

Her fingers drifted down Kassandra’s torso, lingering over the ridges of muscle before travelling further south. Kassandra knew what her destination was. Her sex clenched with anticipation as Melissa’s fingers brushed lightly over the dense thatch of curls. Kassandra permitted it. Just for a moment. Imagining what it would be like to open to her touch. To succumb. To allow herself to be vulnerable before the two of them. She would never see them again after all.

Melissa’s fingers delved a little lower, and Kassandra saw her smile, recognised the eager gleam in her eye. Certainly she was wet enough that Melissa must be certain of her welcome. A questing fingertip touched the stiff peak of Kassandra’s clitoris, just barely. Instantly Kassandra’s hand was about Melissa’s wrist, gently but firmly. She heard the soft gasp of surprise she gave, saw the puzzled look.

“That’s all right, lovely one.” Kassandra kept her voice soft, drew Melissa’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to her damp palm, catching her own scent there. “We should sleep now.”

“But don’t you want to...I’m not tired, really,” Melissa began to protest and Kassandra stopped her with a kiss, lingering, letting Melissa taste herself and Eleni thick and bitter-salt on her tongue and lips.

“You don’t want us to satisfy you?” Eleni’s voice was hesitant. She turned to face Kassandra, stroking her shoulder with a tentative hand.

“You _have_ satisfied me.” Kassandra wriggled down in between them, wrapping an arm about each woman, pulling them close, enjoying the rich, animal smell of them. “This is the most enjoyable evening I have had in longer than I can remember.”

She felt Melissa’s hand hovering hopefully at her hip and turned to look at her.

”No, my treasure. Not tonight.”

It had not been _any_ night since that last night on Mykonos. Kassandra had learned to take pleasure from giving pleasure. She had quickly realised that anything else brought with it the guilt drenched memory of standing in the dim lamp light, writing that cowardly goodbye note, fingers still drenched with the scent of Kyra.

_I’m sorry._

_It would never work._

_Forgive me._

_Forget me._

Kassandra wished she’d brought another jug of wine. She could do with a cup or two to drive away the sick feeling of shame. Closing her eyes and breathing deep, she let the alcohol still swirling around her system take effect. Concentrating on the comforting smell of sweat and perfume and sex, she slowed her breathing, focused on the soft flesh beneath her hands, the rhythmic breathing of her bedmates as they drifted off to sleep.

Minutes later, she joined them.

Minutes after that, soft snoring filled the room.

All was quiet.

The single lamp fluttered in the shifting air.

From behind the screen, in the furthest corner of the room, a hand emerged.

Reaching for the lamp, it pinched out the flame.


	2. Vengeance And Honour

The rickety dressing screen shifted a few inches and a tall, broad shouldered figure emerged. Swathed head to toe in a threadbare cloak, faded to a patchy charcoal grey by exposure to the elements, they stood motionless, a shadow among shadows.

Satisfied at last that the movement of the screen and the change in illumination hadn’t disturbed the sleepers they reached up and eased back the fold of cloak that hooded their head, just enough to be able to hear and see more clearly.

_**~Ergh! You see, my child. It is as I have always said. Laxity in one of the appetites leads to weakness in all. Look at her! The mighty Eagle Bearer. Passed out drunk after a night rutting in a cheap tavern with two common pornai. The place stinks like a goat shed. Get what you have come for and leave.~** _

The intruder sniffed experimentally. Truth be told, it didn’t smell so bad. Apart from the tang of stale wine it was reminiscent of a dormitory. It had been a long time since they’d had to sleep in one, and the memories were mixed, but…

A muffled grunt from one of the sleepers drove the thoughts aside. Tingling fingers instinctively flicked back the edges of the cloak and reached towards the grip of a long bladed sword. Before they connected though everything fell quiet again. As quiet as three lots of drunken snoring would permit at any rate.

Reassured that all was calm, the figure advanced towards the bed on cat-like feet, picking their way between the discarded clothes and armour.

The siren call that had been singing since Kassandra had first entered the room was overwhelming now, drawing them closer and closer like a hook in the heart.

It was coming from the well worn leather harness hanging from the nearest bedpost. More specifically it was coming from the short handled portion of spear that nestled snugly within. The blade seemed to glow, even in the meagre moonlight creeping through the cracks in the ill fitting shutters, its amber warmth highlighting the thick silver cap that had been fitted over the broken end of the shaft.

Another two steps and it was within arm’s reach. Stretching out trembling fingers, the prize mere inches away now, it barely seemed possible that something so longed for could finally be happening.

But it was.

The harness, well polished and buttery soft, slipped silently from the bedpost. How many nights had this been the centerpoint of a dream? How many times had they imagined the weight of the weapon in their hands? Now that it was finally here, hanging heavily in its sheath, the moment almost felt anti climactic.

As their fingers closed around the shaft though everything changed. The charge that ran from hand to skull was strong enough to elicit a grunt of shock and a staggering step backwards.

Image after image like rapid flashes of lightning.

The faces of men, hair matted with gore, faces contorted in fury as they slashed and hacked at each other. A handsome bearded man, his bare chest bathed in sweat and blood, roaring in fury, the intact spear raised above his head. Two children wrestling in the dirt. A woman tending to their bloodied noses. Sinister robed figures, illuminated by flickering torches. Stars pinwheeling madly, a backdrop to a child’s flailing hands. A fall, a plummeting fall. Faster and faster till -

The spear dropped heavily onto the foot of the bed. The amber glow faded. Thankfully the trio just feet away slumbered on undisturbed. No one had felt the spear land on the bed and no one felt as it was picked up again and examined curiously.

At first they had disapproved of the addition of the silver end cap, thinking it ostentatious. But now that the weapon was in hand it made sense. The spear hadn’t been designed to be wielded short-handled. It had always been oddly balanced, difficult for anyone to use who hadn’t been trained from childhood. Trained by someone who had carried it for years. The cap not only strengthened the splintered end, but went some way towards correcting the balance. It would be much more effective as a thrown weapon now, something that had previously been a weakness.

_**~You should try it out, my child. She is right here. You will never have a better opportunity. Kill her here. Kill her! Stinking of drink and lust. And the whores along with her! Clean the world one step at a time. Let her be discovered here, dead as she lived, prey to her desires, in a bed soaked in sex and blood.~** _

“Enough! You do not give me orders any longer.”

It had been barely above an angry whisper, but somehow it was enough to wake the lightest of the three sleepers.

The blonde woman stirred, leaning up on one elbow and squinting blearily towards the end of the bed. Tension crackled in the room. The spear glowed and thrummed, whispering seductively for blood.

“What are you doing? Come back to bed.”

The woman stretched out a lazy arm, wiggling her fingers enticingly. The movement was enough to make the sheet slip down around her waist, revealing once more her heavy breasts and the soft pale flesh of her belly.

_**~Ergh, vile creature!~** _

The raspy voice cut through the intruder’s mind like a dull knife, dragging through thought, settling like a dart of flame behind their left eye.

_**~The choice is taken from you now, child. The whore has seen you. Take up your new weapon. Blood it here!~** _

“No. I told you.”

The blonde pouted sleepily. “You aren’t leaving us already, surely? Stay with us for breakfast at least.” She tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

“Yes. Very well...I...I must attend to some small matters first. Go back to sleep.”

“Well hurry. It’s going to be cold in this bed without you.”

She snuggled back down, pulling the covers over herself as she curled in beside Kassandra, hugging her hips and resting her head against Kassandra’s muscular shoulder.

_**~It is as I have always warned. Drink clouds all of the senses. Reduces man to dull brutishness. Witness the Mighty Eagle Bearer. You could gut her here, my child, and she would be none the wiser as to what had happened or who had done it.~** _

“And where would be the honour in that?”

The spear slid into its harness with an insidious hiss, and the sword seemed to hum in harmony with it, like a bird greeting its mate.

_**~Honour! Is that what you seek? Your behaviour reeks of vengeance to me.~** _

“The two may travel hand in hand. Now cease!”

Experience had taught that applying firm pressure to their eye with the heel of a hand, just enough to tease forth dancing pinpoints of light, would silence the voice more often than not. The price was blurred vision for a minute or two, but it was often worth paying.

One of those minutes had passed before the room began to come back into focus and the pack on the table called for attention. The harness now strapped across their chest, and more importantly, the weapon within it, already branded them as a thief. But if it was the only thing taken it might also attest to their identity. It was too early for that. There would be additional bounty in Kassandra’s pack to disguise the real motive, surely.

There was too little light for an efficient search. The shutters would have to be opened. Thankfully, despite being ill fitting they swung silently, admitting not just moonlight, but warm evening air carrying with it the faint scent of sage and thyme from the nearby hills.

The pack was secured with a curious knot, no doubt intended to prevent light-fingered intruders from slipping in unnoticed. This particular intruder also paused, but not because of the knot’s complexity. There was something about it. It was something they had never tied for themself but...Or had they? Somehow its twists and turns seemed as familiar as their own palm.

It was the work of a moment to untie it and begin to rummage inside. There was the old man’s chlamys, if anything even more threadbare than Kassandra had made it sound. Pinned to it was the weighty clasp that he had spoken of so fondly. A finely modelled porpoise, curled round on itself. It looked and felt like solid silver. Payment for a job? A gift? The spoils of a theft? Valuable certainly, but there would be work involved in converting it to cash. They turned it slowly in their palm, watching how the moonlight glinted on the high points of the relief. Some things were worth more than drachmae of course. The loss of it would pain him no doubt, and by extension Kassandra. An instant later, it was weighty in their pocket and the search resumed.

The small pouch beneath the chlamys was too light for drachmae surely? It contained some threads, needles, a small pot half full of pungent ointment, a few flints and a fire steel wrapped in a scrap of muslin. The last item slipped in beside the brooch and the search continued.

This was more like it! A surprisingly heavy oiled pouch, bigger than a fist. It was reluctant to leave its nest in the pack. The drawcord seemed to be tangled with something. Whatever the something was, it was tangled in turn with the chlamys, caught in one of the fraying holes.

A sharp tug dragged out the whole bundle. The coin pouch, the chlamys and some sort of wooden carving twisted in the drawstring of the purse. The wood was dense, the carving heavy for its size. It swung unexpectedly, hitting the water jug and rocking it against the nearby washbowl. There was the dull, not particularly musical sound of cheap pottery colliding.

The noise was enough to provoke a mumbled query from the bed. Luck had run out at last. The bed frame creaked as someone shifted. Tearing free the chlamys and instinctively burying the coin purse in their belt it was two short steps to the open window, vaulting smoothly over the sill, dragging the hood back into place as they braced to land in the yard below.

It was conveniently deserted, though the hard packed dirt suggested that it was usually a well trafficked area. Hunkering down tight against the wall with the cloak hugged about them covering all but their eyes, they waited, immobile as a rock. All was quiet. Clouds scudded across the moon, reducing everything to shadow.

Satisfied that they were alone they stood upright. An observer would have seen nothing but a liquid shift in the shadows. It was time to move on. They hadn’t dared to drop the disguise in order to eat in the tavern and hunger was beginning to make its presence felt. Stealing or hunting seemed to be the only options available until the sun rose and the market stalls opened. But by then they would be well on their way, shaking the dust of this dismal town from their boots.

The coin pouch heavy at their hip was testimony to how easy it was to fall into thievery. It was infuriating that one accustomed to being waited upon hand and foot should now be reduced to common banditry. It lacked dignity. But there was no way of knowing the nature of the work that had earned Kassandra the payment in the first place of course. And what was _she_ going to spend it on? Drink and whores. No. Far better that it should serve the needs of a god.

Reaching down to tuck the bag of coin away more comfortably something caught the back of their hand. That odd carving was still dangling there, caught tight in the drawcord and too bulky to slip into a belt. It was hard to make out much detail in the darkness. What could it be that Kassandra valued enough to tuck into a pack that otherwise contained nothing but essentials?

The overall shape looked avian? A bird with extended wings? An eagle? Did Kassandra really carry around a carving of an eagle in flight? An eagle for the Eagle Bearer? Was there no end to her vanity? Of course there wasn’t.

There was no need to carry that round at any rate. The smell of a waste pail was drifting over from across the yard. Untie the thing and dump it in there, along with the old man’s ostentatious clasp. It was easier said than done. The drawcord had become tightly wound around the splayed feathers and open beak. Reaching for the knife tucked into their boot in order to cut it free they froze, eyes narrowed, as a door further along flew open. Light and laughter flooded out.

“Another jug my friends! No! Two more. At least two more. The tale of how Kassandra bested not one but two bull headed men is a long and thirsty one, filled with drama and excitement.”

Drawing the cloak back up over their face they melted back into the shadows to observe. No wonder Kassandra kept the old man around. It was clearly his role to stroke her already overinflated ego and bolster her ridiculous legend. Their low grunt of disgust was muffled by the folds of the cloak.

“Hurry then Barnabas. You don’t want us to have drunk it all before you return!”

“Just let me drain a little of the last jug and I will be back to enthrall you!”

Oblivious to his hidden audience he weaved and staggered his way over to the wall opposite, shuffling out of the slice of lamplight and hauling up the skirt of his faded tunic.

_**~Have we not seen enough vile animal behaviour for one night? Must we stand here and witness this as well?~** _

“Quiet.”

This was perfect. An idea had begun to form during those seemingly endless hours cramped behind that rickety screen, learning more about Kassandra’s bedroom behaviour than anyone could ever have desired. Its disparate parts were now coalescing into a fully fledged plan. And this Barnabas fellow would be perfect for testing its viability.

It was one thing a bleary eyed whore making a mistake. She had only known Kassandra for a matter of hours, regardless of how intimate those hours might have been. Barnabas had known her for, what had he said? Six years? Long enough to know her like a family member, but he was currently drunk enough to overlook a few irregularities. And if not? If he could see the truth, even dulled with drink? Then he was intoxicated enough to be dispatched without a sound.

Barnabas gave a sigh of irritation, glancing down resentfully. It seemed like every year his body became just a little more reluctant to follow his instructions.

“Old age is definitely not for cowards.”

He craned his head back to look at the stars, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet to try and encourage things along. Perhaps it might be useful to have a healer aboard after all. Someone with knowledge of herbs. He glanced down hopefully.

“Come on old friend. Play the game now.”

There had to be some potion or pellet that would help sort this out. And it would be good to have someone to stitch up Kassandra, she couldn’t always reach to do it herself. He felt a grudging trickle begin and just as it did someone behind him cleared their throat making him jump.

“Step up my friend, there’s plenty of room for two.”

He gave a sigh as the trickle grew to a thin, stuttering stream. Whoever had joined him made no move, but cleared their throat again. Someone else with a shy bladder perhaps? Well they would have to hold it or get over it, he was going to be here for a while.

“Come on now. There’s lots of wall. Whatever you’re packing there, it can’t be that big -”

“Barnabas?”

The voice was a husky whisper and definitely slurred, but still just about recognisable. He turned on his heel, genuinely surprised. Given the company that she’d taken to bed she was the last person he expected to see out here.

“Kassandra?”

He peered through the gloom as she took a step closer. She’d acquired a long grey cloak from somewhere. That was odd. She rarely wore anything long. Or covered her head for that matter. Just as he was beginning to doubt himself she eased back the cloak, just enough to reveal her face.

“Oh thank the gods!” He gave a relieved chuckle. “You had me scared for a minute there. What in Hades are you doing out here? You’ve not worn out your lovely bed -”

He saw her glowering and followed her gaze down, down, further down, to where a braided stream of amber liquid was pattering onto her boots.

“What in the name of -” She sounded furious.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He quickly redirected the flow towards the wall, his head swimming as he turned too quickly. “You’ll want to rinse those under the pump there no doubt.” He gave a loud belch, wincing as acid burned the back of his throat. “Where did you get that old cloak? You didn’t steal it for me did you?”

There was an overlong pause before she answered and he shot a glance at her. Was something wrong?

“I found it hanging up by the door. It's better than that fishing net you call a chlamys isn’t it?”

Judging by the halting slur of her voice she was even more soused than he was.

“Well it's long on you my friend. It’ll be tripping me up all the time. Anyway, what did you want?” He looked down at the growing puddle by the base of the wall. Now he’d started it felt like he would never stop. It was always something. “You didn’t leave your warm and fragrant companions just to give me an old cloak?”

“No, no.” She was swaying drunkenly from foot to foot. “I was...I was thinking.”

“Dangerous habit to start at your time of life.” He looked over with a teasing smile, and noticed the carving peeping through the cloak at the height of her hip. “You don’t want to be carrying Chara about like that,” he nodded towards it, “Phoibe would be heartbroken if you lost her.”

She seemed puzzled, following his gesture and looking down at the carving with a frown. Her lips moved as she murmured something quietly to herself. Definitely drunk, he decided. Or perhaps things in the bedroom hadn’t gone as well as she’d anticipated. Did drink affect women in the same way it did men? Now probably wasn’t the time to ask her. She seemed cranky. When she at last looked up at him Barnabas was relieved to see that she appeared...well not affable exactly, but less irritated.

“Phoibe yes. That’s who I was thinking of. About what you said. Going to see her? I was thinking that we should go? Go to...to…” She frowned again and raised her hand, fingers plucking at the air, searching for the name.

“Poseidon’s balls, Kassandra! Those women’s temples must be running with hydromeli eh? You’re drunker than me. Get back to bed before you fall asleep out here.”

A final feeble spatter told him that his bladder was empty at last. He began to tuck himself away, straighten out his tunic.

“But we should go? Go to...to...to…”

“Kephallonia! Gods, girl!” He punched her arm and felt her sway. “KEPHALLONIA!” He threw back his head and sang to the stars. “Island of goats, and that bastard Markos.”

He staggered over to the pump and rinsed his hands in the bucket there, splashing a few handfuls over his face, feeling how flushed he was. He needed something to eat.

“Here’s what we should do!” He spun round, almost lost his balance and grabbed a hold of the pump handle to steady himself, inadvertently splashing his feet with a belch of water. “What we should do. We should go to Kephallonia, give that bloody Markos a good thrashing and take young Phoibe with us! She can be the mascot of the Adrestia! What about that for an idea? Come here and I’ll rinse your boots for you.”

“No. It's fine. I’ll do it later. That’s a good idea though. You’re right, we should do that.”

Zeus, she _was_ drunk! She’d have forgotten most of this in the morning. Hopefully she’d recall just enough for him to persuade her to visit Phoibe. He was under no illusions about her agreeing to take the girl with them. But it had been too long since she’d visited the child. He saw her cock her head suddenly, dog-like, as she did when she was listening hard.

“We’ll do it tomorrow, eh?” Her speech sounded suddenly less slurred. “But your friends are calling for you now. You’re telling them a tale?”

“Eh?” He looked towards the door. “Oh yes! The tale of your trip to Minos. That’s always a crowd pleaser. Why not join us? You can fill in some of the romantic details.”

“I think you’ll fill in quite enough fanciful exaggerations for both of us. Besides…” She tailed off and looked up at a second story window behind him.

He followed her gaze, took a moment to orientate himself and grinned.

“Yes. I don’t blame you.” He tried to tap his nose and almost missed. “Your new friends are a good deal more attractive than mine. Well!” He wiped his hands dry on his tunic. “I will come wake you in the morning. Bright and early, remember.” He turned carefully. The whole yard was swirling around him now, he really could use a bowl of stew or something. “We need to get to the smith first thing, before he gets buried under horses and broken shovels. Sleep well.” He weaved his way over to the warm light of the open door. “Or whatever you plan to do with the rest of your night.”

She found herself working to control a smirk of satisfaction as he closed the door behind him, plunging the yard back into darkness.

He hadn’t exhibited the slightest suspicion. True, he was as drunk as a wharf rat, but on the other hand he and Kassandra had six years of companionship between them. This was going to work. There was no doubt it would require a few alterations to her appearance. She ought to acquire a wine red chlamys. And those scars on Kassandra’s arm. They were not only obvious, but clearly something she used to her advantage when coaxing women into her bed. People likely knew all about them.

Acquiring the scars would be unpleasant but easy enough. Once she’d found some food and a place to camp for the night she should do that right away. As she considered the prospect she found her curiosity piqued. For as long as she could recall she had healed quickly and without problem. How would it be now, with the spear of Leonidas in her grasp? She should use the spear! It would be apt that the first blood she drew with it should be her own. What more potent consummation could there be than to draw it through her own flesh?

She had been so deep in thought, her pulse quickening in anticipation, that the woman’s voice behind her made her jump.

“Who in Hades is...oh it's you!”

The light of the lantern that the woman was carrying revealed her to be the servant who had waited on Kassandra and Barnabas earlier in the evening.

The instinctive reaction to being surprised in a dark and unfamiliar place had been to reach for her sword but she dropped her hands to her sides now. The maid servant posed no risk. In fact her unexpected arrival was perfect. The woman had met Kassandra only briefly of course. But unlike the previous tests, this subject was sober. Sober and unnerved, judging by her expression.

“You’re not trying to skip out on your bill are you?” The maid asked warily, raising the lantern a little higher and tucking the tray she carried neatly under her other arm.

“ _What_ did you say?!”

It had been automatic, the furious response. The anger in her voice was enough to make the woman take a step back and hug the tray to her chest. It would make for an ineffectual shield.

She was accusing _Kassandra_ of sloping out without paying, of course. Just as Barnabas had been relieving himself over _Kassandra’s_ boots. Both actions would have been enough to warrant instant death under other circumstances. Now, under _these_ circumstances, it was something of a victory she reminded herself.

“I..” The woman licked her lips nervously, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry. I just wondered what you were doing out here in the dark. I didn’t see you leaving your room.” She was still hugging the tray to her, but had lowered the lantern just a little.

“I came out for what I’d hoped would be a breath of fresh air. It's hot inside.”

The explanation seemed to have succeeded in reassuring the maid. She lowered the tray and darted a disgusted glance over towards the waste pail.

“It is that. And the yard isn’t really the best place for fresh air. People are like animals sometimes. I spoke without thinking, I’m sorry, Eagle Bearer. It's just, well it’s not unknown for people to sneak out under the pretense of relieving themselves and not come back to pay. I should have known someone like you wouldn’t do that though.”

“Like me?”

So far, so good. Time to ease back the cloak and reveal her face a bit more clearly.

“Aye. I didn’t realise who you were at first. Not till a couple of the other girls told me. You might have a reputation, but it isn’t for not paying your bills.”

Earlier in the evening, standing cloaked and sweating in the sweltering tavern, she had watched the maid interact with Kassandra, had seen the Eagle Bearer’s louche charm fall on barren soil. It would be safe enough to try and take the performance a little further, here with a stranger she need never interact with again. One who had proven herself immune to flirtation.

“And just what is my reputation then, lovely one?” She was glad of the dim light as she made a clumsy attempt to replicate Kassandra’s sultry growl, it would hide her awkward expression.

“I think you know full well what it is!” The maid took another step backwards, frowning deeply. “With respect, Misthios, I know you aren’t used to hearing “no”, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. Step aside now, I’ve work to do. Please.”

“Here in the dark, on your own?” It felt natural suddenly to arch an eyebrow and attempt a sly half smile.

“I’m not in the dark, I’ve got my lantern.”

The woman raised it theatrically, sending light bobbing around the dim yard. She held it steady after a few moments, just level with her chin, lighting her face dramatically. It revealed her puzzled expression.

“I could have sworn you had a long braid earlier? Didn’t you?”

Damn! She’d forgotten all about that, and the cloak had slipped enough to reveal the vacant left shoulder where the braid invariably lay. That would be trickier than the scars. She tugged the cloak back into place and gave what she hoped was a casual shrug.

“My companions,” she darted a glance up at the bedroom window above them, “were very...enthusiastic in their attentions. The braid does come undone you know. If you’re determined enough.”

“Oh. Right, well that’s enough. You don’t need to draw me a picture. I’ve refreshments to get. They’ll be expecting me back inside any minute.” The maid’s eyes darted towards the kitchen door behind her. “They’ll be wondering where I am. There’s customers waiting.” She was making a solid effort to disguise the tremor in her voice, but she was nervous.

That counted as a success, surely. But enough was enough. She’d proved her point.

“Calm yourself girl. I was merely teasing you. Give me the lantern.” She reached out for it, only to have the maid rear away, frowning.

“No thank you! I can hold a lantern well enough.”

_**~She dares speak to you like this! You, the god of dread. Her place is kneeling at your feet in terrified worship. Put the insolent girl where she belongs!~** _

“It was a command, not a request.” She advanced on the maid, her voice like steel and reached for the lantern.

“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect, truly.” The girl was cowering now and inching back towards the door, her eyes darting around frantically, no doubt looking for help or escape. “I’ve intruded on you quite enough already. I can come back later.”

Malaka! She’d lost it. Women almost certainly did not retreat from Kassandra’s flirtatious advances looking terrified. It had seemed so easy, watching her perform earlier in the tavern. The smouldering looks and foxy smiles. It turned out to be like juggling though. An easy task when someone else was doing it.

“Wait! I mean, wait _please_?” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word and held up a conciliatory hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s...hot and muggy and I...have a headache.” She flailed for an excuse. “But that’s no reason to be rude to you.” She softened her voice, willing herself to appear less intimidating. What did people do to appear apologetic? She trawled her memory for how people had attempted to appease her in the past, and settled for ducking her head in an awkward bow. “Allow me? By way of apology? It will make it easier to manage your tray if someone else holds your light, surely?”

There was a long pause before the maid wordlessly stretched out the hand holding the lantern then nodded over towards the wall and an unobtrusive door.

In control of the light now it was easy to study the lock as the maid fumbled with the keys, still clearly unnerved by the looming figure at her shoulder. As security went this was more of a token offering to discourage passing chancers than any real challenge. A firm shoulder would unlock it even more effectively than the heavy key the maid was returning to her pocket.

The room she revealed was packed with supplies. Spicy smelling dried sausages hung from the ceiling alongside a haunch of cured meat, boar by the look of it. Strings of dark jerky dangled like ribbons above a table full of small sacks and bowls. Her stomach clenched painfully and saliva flooded her mouth the instant the scents reached her nostrils. The maid unhooked a few strips and placed them on the tray before turning her attention to a large jar, half full of olives.

“Could you hold that light a bit higher, please? I can’t see the ladle, oh there it is.” She found an empty bowl and began to fill it, chattering nervously all the while. “I’ll be glad when these things are gone. It's like eating oily corks. I’d have fed them to the goats myself, but the boss is too mean. Would you like a few?” She held out the half full ladle, looking unsurprised when the offer was declined. “Can’t say I blame you.” She turned her attention to a long bench loaded with wheels and blocks of cheese.

Standing in the doorway, holding aloft the lantern provided a perfect opportunity to scan this treasure trove. There was a lantern hanging on a hook just inside the doorway, that would be useful when she returned shortly without the maid in tow. Under the bench was a small pile of empty sacks, a roughly folded bundle of cheesecloth lying on top of them, weighted down with a smooth stone.

It would be short work to fill one of the sacks and disappear. There was a good chance that stock keeping was loose enough that they wouldn’t even notice the missing goods. And if they did? Well, if they questioned the maid, suspicion was probably going to fall on Kassandra. See how _she_ liked being accused of theft. It was as though the plan was beginning to run itself.

She was roused from her reverie by the maid clearing her throat. She’d finished filling the tray and now had it deftly balanced against one hip.

“That will do for now. I should be getting back. The drinkers can get impatient.” She gave a nod towards the door, seeming a little calmer now that escape was in sight. Once outside she began to fuss with the lock again, muttering over her shoulder as she did. “You might want to get back to your room before too long. I don’t know that I’d trust a couple of -” Whatever she’d been about to say, she clearly thought better of it at the last moment. “A couple of strangers on their own with all my stuff.”

She seemed preoccupied with thievery, which was apt enough as it happened. No sooner was the maid safely back in the kitchen with the door closed behind her, than the store room door was yielding easily to a well placed shoulder.

Safely inside with the lantern lit, thanks to her new firesteel, it was time to survey the riches available. Taking the newest and cleanest of the empty sacks she selected the largest dried sausage. They looked as though they would travel well and last for a while. In fact, it might be wise to take two, there were plenty hanging here. The jerky would be good to pack as well. As she crammed a fistful into the sack the rich meaty smell made her stomach growl. How long had it been since her last meal? Had she eaten this morning, or was that yesterday? She felt almost sick with hunger and was tempted to sample a little as she packed.

No. Wait till you’ve made camp and settled for the night. You’ve spent too long here already. Pack and move.

She turned her attention to the bench, cutting a large chunk from a hard block of sheep’s milk cheese, and adding a smaller wedge of soft goat’s cheese. Wrapping the last in a piece of cheesecloth she packed it more carefully than the rest and began to examine the contents of the full sacks stacked by the wall. They were mainly beans and barley. No real use to her as she didn’t have the means, knowledge or inclination to cook them. The final, smallest one was more interesting though.

The sweet, almost spicy scent made her head swim. She had to swallow hard to prevent herself from drooling. Currants! How long had it been since she had tasted currants? Or any dried, sweet fruit for that matter. They were a weakness. Like drink or sex or compassion. She should close the bag and look for a couple of waterskins.

It seemed that her body had different ideas. Even as she pictured herself tying up the bag and turning her back on it, her hand had plunged deep into the mass of shrivelled little fruits and an instant later she was cramming a generous pinch into her mouth.

_**~Spit that out! Have I not trained you to be mistress of your appetites, not their slave? Any weakness, however trivial it seems to you, may be the point of the wedge that can force open the tightest joint.~** _

She bit down defiantly, releasing a rush of intense sweetness that made her senses swoon. She had to brace a hand on the wall to steady herself, moaning with pleasure, but the surprise had been sufficient to quieten the voice.

She chewed resolutely, an unfamiliar smile twitching at her lips all the while, relishing every moment until there was barely anything left to swallow. Then, chasing every last gritty little seed with the tip of her tongue, she cut off a manageable square of cheesecloth and piled two big fistfuls of currants in the centre, meticulously folding and tying until she had a neat secure parcel.

“I _am_ mistress of my appetites,” she hissed, “and _I_ will decide if and when I indulge them.”

Tucking the treasure into her bag, she followed her earlier instinct and found an empty wine skin under one of the tables. It smelt a little of its previous contents, but would do.

By the door she turned and gave a last look around the room. A small stoppered bottle by a table leg caught her attention. A sniff and a taste revealed that it contained olive oil, and not much better than the olives the maid had complained of. The flavour was immaterial for her purposes, but she didn’t want the contents to spill all over the rest of her supplies. One of the drawstrings from an empty sack would serve to secure the stopper, and would also come in handy later.

Outside, filling the skin at the pump, and allowing the overflow to wash off her boots, she smiled to herself. When she’d trailed her quarry here earlier in the evening her head had contained nothing more than a ravelled, knotted mess of ideas, but over the course of the night she had untangled them and woven the strands into a tidy net.

It was a trap that the mighty Eagle Bearer would walk into quite readily in the end, for it would be baited with everyone she had ever loved.

Drying the waterskin on her cloak she fastened it to her hip in place of the wooden carving. Earlier she had toyed with the idea of tossing it away, but something Barnabas had said made her reconsider. She tucked the bird into her bag, tied off the top and headed towards the gateway to the yard. Before leaving she paused and raised her eyes to the darkened bedroom window, through which Kassandra slumbered, sweaty and content. It would be the last time she experienced such pleasure. Tomorrow the famed Eagle Bearer was going to awaken in a whole new world.

She plunged her hand into her pocket and fished out the heavy clasp, smirking to herself. With the barest of glances over her shoulder she threw it in the direction of the waste pail, hearing it hit home with a satisfying wet plop.

Pulling the cloak forward till her face was lost in shadow, she chuckled humourlessly to herself and shot a brief, final glance towards the bedroom window.

“Sleep well, sister,” she sneered, heading out along the moonlit road.


End file.
